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Not one of them will escape his punishment.
Since Mina was part of the Special Forces when she filed her complaint, her case was handled by court-martial. Her ranking officer, Major General Rafael Tóth, should’ve protected her. Instead, he claimed what happened was her own fault. I read the report he submitted. I read the half-assed excuses of the men who teamed up against an unarmed woman. I read the military attorney’s sad attempt at defense. Now I have a few questions of my own for the asshole who testified against Mina.
Nine to go. Ten if I count Tóth.
These days, he’s an advisor to some minor idiot for Veteran Welfare at the Ministry of Defense.
“Yan,” Anton says as we reach the car. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I have someone to interrogate.”
“With regards to Dimitrov?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Something else.”
He shifts into the passenger seat when I unlock the doors. “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
“Mudak,” he mutters as I start the engine.
In less than an hour, we land at a small airfield just outside the eastern border of Budapest. Anton’s control tower connection helped to get the takeoff and landing permissions in record time.
The driver I requested before takeoff is waiting next to a car. I’ve worked with him before. He’s reliable and discreet. Once Anton and I are settled in the back and I’ve given our chauffer the address, he raises the partition to allow us privacy.
I pull up the blueprint of the house on my phone as we pull off.
Anton glances at the screen. “I don’t want to meddle in your private war, but that address will come with good security.”
“Good, but not top notch.”
“What aren’t you telling us?”
“Us?”
“Me. Ilya.”
“I didn’t know this was me against you.”
His dark eyes harden. “It’s Mina, isn’t it?”
“Do not fucking say her name.”
“There you go again.” He shakes his head. “You’ve beaten up your own brother over this woman. How far are you going to let this go?”
“Let what go?”
“You’re letting her manipulate you.”
“Shut your mouth. You have no idea who’s manipulating who.”
“Do you?”
“Anton, I’m fucking warning you.”
“Fine.” He huffs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He looks through the window, then back at me. “Why am I even here? If you’re going to be this jumpy, you should’ve left me on the plane.”
“You’re here to break into this house.”
He looks at the screen again. “You want me to get you in, but you won’t say why.”
“If you don’t want to help me, say so now.”
He throws his hands in the air. “I’ll fucking help you.”
“Good. Was that so hard?”
He shakes his head again, but doesn’t answer.
If it had been anyone but Mina, I would’ve told him. But this isn’t his business, and I have no right to share her private matters. Before this whole thing can blow up, these men will be dead. By then, we’ll be far away from here, spending the money the hit on Dimitrov will bring in. Someplace warm will be nice.
Maybe a private island off the coast of Mozambique.
Anton and I go through a few checkpoints during the drive. Cutting the alarm and breaking in is easy. The idiot doesn’t have a guard or a dog. We enter the spacious house on an isolated property outside of town and make our way to the main bedroom upstairs, where our target’s heavy bulk is tenting the covers on the bed. The fucker only wakes up when I press the barrel of my gun against his temple.
The whites of his eyes are wide in the moonlight that shines through the window. Cleverly, he keeps his mouth shut. His wife is asleep next to him.
“Tsk, tsk.” I shake my head. “Not very vigilant for an ex-soldier. You’re losing your touch.”
At the sound of my voice, the woman stirs. She opens her eyes, blinks, and shoots upright.
“Shh.” I press my finger to my lips. “You don’t want to wake the kids.”
“Whatever you want,” Tóth says, his sleep-hoarse voice unsteady.
I address his wife. “I’m going to ask your husband a few questions. Stay here, and you won’t get hurt.”
She swallows as she looks at her husband. At my nod, Anton moves to her side of the bed, making sure she sees his weapon.
“Get up,” I tell Tóth. Keeping the gun against his head, I push him into the corridor. “To the garage.”
He doesn’t argue. He leads me downstairs into the double garage through a door in the kitchen. I lock the door and flick on the lights. He turns to look at me, holding up his hands. He’s calm now. Too calm.
“You know why I’m here,” I say.
“I heard about the others.”
I give him a grim smile. “News travels fast.”
“That woman sent you.”
“No one sent me.”
He appears confused. “Then why are you here?”
“Because of that woman.” Motherfucker. He doesn’t even remember her name. I cast a quick glance around the space. He seems to do a lot of DIY. The shelves are neatly stacked with jars of nails and screws. Hammers and saws hang from hooks on the wall. “Get some cable ties.”
